2005-08-08 - 8:36 p.m.
Summertime blues
Yes, yes, I know. It had been AGES since I’ve updated. Two months, in fact. It’s not that nothing has been happening, it’s just that I haven’t felt motivated to do much of anything lately, so please excuse me.
I have decided that I hate summer. I really, really do. I used to love it when I was little, because summer met camp and heat and pool and fun. Sometimes it meant canoeing and crafts, and sometimes it meant theater camp. It usually meant a week or two at the beach, which was usually Rehoboth or Bethany, which always meant Nic-o-Bolis, Thrasher’s fries and soft serve. Sometimes chocolate salt water taffy (always chocolate!) from Candy Kitchen, and it didn’t matter which Candy Kitchen you went to—there were five on the boardwalk when I was a kid—just as long as you got a big box that you could savor all year. There was caramel corn from Dollee’s and riding bikes on the boardwalk and watching the high school and college kids, who looked so OLD and blond and tan, playing volleyball on the beach. And t-shirts. And the ocean.
But now? Summer is humid and way too hot, but then you sit at your desk all day and it’s freakin’ cold. The beaches are too crowded and I don’t have a car, so I don’t go. All I want to do is sit inside in the a/c all day. And the tourists! Oh my goodness, the tourists. All over. Everywhere. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalks to read their maps or take a picture of the Cup Noodles sign. They’re all over, too, which I didn’t really expect—tourists on the UWS? On a Sunday afternoon? What gives? And not your sophisticated artsy tourists who are so desperate to blend in that they read their maps five times before breakfast and ask for directions by discreetly approaching someone and saying, “Pardon me, where is Lincoln Center?” No, these are shorts-wearing, camera-carrying, bad-blonde-dye-job-having tourists, wandering around while I’m trying to get to the movies. People. If you must stop, STAND TO THE SIDE. It’s not that hard! And cross the street, for fuck’s sake! And please, keep moving. And don’t hold hands under scaffolding so no one can get around you while you stroll and wonder for the 8 millionth time who Duane Reade was! Please.
I saw a woman yesterday who was YELLOW. As in, she put too much fake bake on too-white skin. It was a creepy yellow-orange tone. I was shocked. It was all I could do to keep from staring at her skinny little legs in her cut-off jean shorts and her Reeboks. You know what she looked like? She looked like what your mother always said you would look like if you ate too many carrots.
So my summer has been horribly boring. It’s too hot and humid to go out much, really, which sucks, but since I don’t mind being by myself, it’s kind of OK. I’ll be going to the beach soon, and that beach is in Florida-- Mom called last weekend and basically told me to find a cheap fare and fly down for a weekend, so I’m going in two weeks. Yay, beach! I’m totally looking forward to it. I was going to call my great-aunt who lives in Atlantic City and beg for a spot on her couch, but she is usually surrounding by her five ultra-bratty grandchildren, and that’s not my idea of a relaxing weekend.
In other news… The Knew Bo and I are done. Well, sort of. I don’t know. A couple of weeks ago, I broke it off. I hadn’t been planning to, but I’d been thinking about it, so… it kind of came out. It wasn’t anything that he’d done, and he wasn’t an asshole and he didn’t treat me badly, it was just that I wanted some exclusivity and some weekend time and he didn’t want either. So I said I couldn’t do it anymore. It was pretty sad, actually. All he needed to do was apologize and agree to work on it, and it wouldn’t have been over. But he didn’t. So… it was.
Except it’s not. The Monday after I broke up with him, I got a letter from my former roommate. Bitch sent me my deposit, almost 2 months late. And she deducted all kinds of money for all kinds of dumb shit to which I did not agree. So I called KB and asked for legal help. Went over to his place that night and he drafted a letter. Things between him and me were icy on the phone (I’m the first person who’s ever dumped him), but they softened as we worked on the letter. I sent the letters out on Thursday, per his instructions, and we waited for a response from her. Nothing.
In the meantime, he went camping. And he text-messaged me. FROM HIS CAMPING TRIP. I was like, “Hmm, what the hell?” Then the next night, he called. Sounded miserable. Told me all about his horrible trip back (car trouble), then he said, “Come over.” I laughed at the poor bastard. I did not go over. Then the next night, he told me that we would have to sue my former roommate, because she had not responded to the letter. And I went over to fill out the paperwork. And… I stayed. I didn’t go that far, but I did stay. And it was lovely. So… I don’t know. We’ll see. I am in terrible danger of letting him be in control again. I have to remind myself that I cannot call, that I cannot let him think that I want him. HE has to be the one who wants ME.
So… that’s kind of it for now. Just another week, not much going on. Oh, I went to the gym five days last week, and I plan to do the same this week. Has it been helping? NO. This sucks. My arm muscles are more defined, and my torso is slimmer, but fuck, my pants are still tight. Gah.
